When I woke up I was blind. I just didn’t notice at first.

It was the most bizarre sensation. I had the notion that things were going on in front of me, but I couldn’t see anything. Nothing I ‘saw’ was available for my conscious mind to interact with. My eyes hurt when I pointed my head at the overhead light, but I couldn’t recognize any reason for that to be so, at first, because I couldn't see the light.

Someone wheeled me to my hospital room, and it was like I could feel the pictures on the wall sliding past. I couldn’t see them even though they were right there. This didn’t bother me all that much; I was still in a confused state from the anesthesia.

By the time I had the wherewithal to feel fear, my vision had returned and I could disregard the side effects of the anesthesia. Being blinded while waking up isn’t a typical side-effect of anesthesia, I later learned, but everyone reacts to such things differently.

—

I looked up more about hanahaki while I rested in the hospital. There wasn’t much else to do and all my plans for the next week had been shattered. I felt the vague sense that I should be making new plans, and finding ways to make the most of the time I’d be wasting in the hospital, but instead I browsed my phone.

The Amorfloris parasite was normally benign. It would cause the membrane lining your upper respiratory tract to peel away into petals that contained the eggs of new parasites. I went down a rabbit hole reading about how the worm added material to the membranes to change their mechanical properties, but it wasn’t really relevant to understanding the illness.

The petals would be coughed up. The hanahaki parasite needed its eggs to dry out before its life cycle could continue. The eggs (or spores, if you preferred) would lie dormant for years or decades, until they were disturbed and someone else breathed them in. They were like the hantavirus in that way, except Amorfloris didn’t jump between species.

The spores would rehydrate immediately in their new host’s lungs, but the tiny parasites inside wouldn’t activate until neurochemicals associated with limerence, excitement, and stress caused them to mature. There were theories on why the parasite waited until a human was feeling limerence–perhaps because in the ancestral environment that would correlate with a seasonal gathering of humans–but no-one knew for sure.

The hanahaki parasites were worms, technically. They formed little spindles–roots–that stole nutrients from the mucus in the lungs. That sounds deadly, but it’s no more deadly than having worms living in your eyes.

(Eyelash mites were a parasite that humanity had been hosting since time immemorial, just like Amorfloris, just another scary thing that I learned about as I shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed. They too could reproduce too much, which would make your eyes itchy and red. However, when hanahaki parasites grew too much, it might kill you.)

Hanahaki wasn’t a serious concern for the vast majority of people. There was a balance where the parasite took some of your nutrients, and your immune system fought it with some intensity, and both systems went on doing what they did. Confessing your love would make you recover faster, but you’d recover on your own either way. A common recommendation for recovery was bedrest.

The worms would stay near the top of your lungs and reproduce there once or twice before scaring your lungs enough to make you a suboptimal host. Then they’d die and your immune system would prevent them from returning.

Thus, there was no cure for hanahaki. Interest in driving the parasite extinct was minimal.

—

“Are you holding up alright?” asked Mr. Brookes. He and his wife were the first people to visit, soon after I woke up, which was mostly because I had texted them first. My text had said not to worry and that I’d be out of the hospital in a few days, but they’d come anyway.

“Yes,” I said. I rubbed an eye. “I’ve got to stay here for two days for observation, and another scan, but I’m fine.”

“It must be a powerful love, to have made you so sick.”

“The opposite, actually.” He gave me a quizzical look. I explained that something else had gone wrong, which is part of why I hadn’t noticed, and that the disease could be triggered by stress instead of limerence. He nodded, frowning slightly.

“I got hanahaki without being enamored with anyone,” I said.

“Well, pay attention to how you feel,” said Mrs. Brookes. “Sometimes emotions have a way of sneaking up on us.”

“I’m very in tune with my emotions.”

“That’ll help you get to the bottom of this.” I sighed, but didn’t argue further.

Instead I talked to them about some of my thoughts regarding researching illnesses, and how strange it was that hanahaki had been neglected as a topic for research.

“I just don’t get how humanity can have had a disease for approximately forever, and still be surprised by it.”

“We already know a lot about it,” objected Mr. Brookes.

“Yeah, but,” I said, before remembering that once upon a time they had fallen ill simultaneously. Suggesting that we eliminate hanahaki entirely might not impress them. “I was still caught off guard.”

“That is the nature of love itself,” he responded. “Are you sure that you aren’t… experiencing a more typical course for the illness?”

“I’m sure. The doctor even said… well, he asked about my sickness, and when I described things he thought it might be stress. He did say I should go on dates either way.”

“Did he now? Perhaps he thought you were in denial.”

“I don’t–” I started, but I cut myself short. Denying I was in denial didn’t seem like a way to win that argument, but what else could I do?

“You’ve been hospitalized, of course you’re upset,” said Mrs. Brookes. “You’d better rest up while you are here, by the way.”

“Oh yeah. Rest is enforced.” I’d gotten in trouble for trying to walk around the facility after walking circles in my room got too boring. I’d missed my run, and I was already feeling restless. “Bed rest and plenty of fluids. One of the nurses brought me a coffee from downstairs to save me from a headache.”

“How sweet of her,” said Mrs. Brookes.

“Him, actually. A male nurse–actually, they ensure that the nurses treating hanahaki patients are the same gender as the patients.” I explained that it was thought that avoiding contact between the sexes would make the disease easier to overcome, but that there wasn’t really any evidence for it.

“A holdover from less enlightened times,” said Mr. Brookes. “If anything, I’d expect the opposite.”

“Me too,” I said.

Truthfully, I had mixed feelings about it. I wasn’t sure if I had a crush on anyone, but the thought of a bunch of strange women assuming I did have a crush, then judging me for being a coward, kind of set me on edge. Only a true coward would hide their feelings at the cost of their health.

I was waiting for one of the male nurses to try to have some sort of talk with me, like a wise elder brother, but it hadn’t happened.

“It’s also not very considerate of gay people,” I said. One of Mr. Brookes’ eyebrows went up.

“And are you–”

“I’m not gay, either.” I started to laugh. “I can’t believe you’d have to ask that.”

“Well, you’ve never brought a girl over, as far as I recall.” He glanced at his wife, and she nodded. Mrs. Brookes had a better memory for such things. “This hanahaki illness came out of nowhere, didn’t it.”

“You’re telling me!”

“But they always do,” added Mrs. Brookes. I tried not to sigh.

I was fond of the Brookes. They were like replacement parents to me, irritating speculation about my love life and all. My replacement sister was notably absent, although since I had no siblings, I supposed Bella wasn’t a replacement at all.

“Where’s Bella, by the way?”

“She thought that too many visitors would hinder your recovery,” said Mr. Brookes. “She’s very worried about you.”

“Ah, well tell her ‘thanks for the concern,’ but I’m just fine. I’ll be out as soon as possible.”

“Of course. She was worried that she gave you the disease.” I felt my own eyebrows rise. “She thought that she carried it from one of her schoolmates to you.”

I was blushing, and now both of them were looking at me with a mixture of skepticism and interest that made me want to sink into the hospital bed and disappear. I didn’t feel that way about Bella. Admittedly, her long hair and relentless curiosity were–

I shut those thoughts down.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” I said. “Based upon what I’ve been reading.”

“I told her that, but…” said Mr. Brookes. “Anyway, we are all very concerned for you, so try to make a fast recovery.”

“Whatever that takes,” added Mrs. Brookes.

“I will.” The Brookes left, but not before setting down a cooler full of sandwiches.

Some time later, Dr. Dominic came into my room. He was there to explain more about my surgery and illness.

—

Normally hanahaki worms would die naturally and dry up, to be coughed out with the petals, but mine had grown too large and numerous. They had performed an Amorifloris Parasitectomy on me.

The surgeon had knocked me out, suctioned my stomach to make sure I wouldn’t vomit, then used a different hose and camera to look into my lungs. It was super gross and unsettling, but it had already happened, so I tried not to worry about it too much.

In time with my breathing, the surgeon had vacuumed up all the hanahaki petals, then the roots, then any leftover detritus. If a worm got stuck he’d used a tiny hook to pull it loose. Stuck worms were the part with the most danger in the surgery I’d undergone.

Fortunately for me, I had chronic hanahaki type A. The worms came out without much trouble.

If any of the worms had run out of mucus to eat, they might have gone after my blood instead. The resulting holes could have caused me to bleed to death. That was hanahaki type B, which sometimes killed the elderly or the infirm.

A common symptom of hanahaki type B were blooms: masses of petals and coagulated blood. You could very easily bleed to death when one of them dislodged. Bloomycin, an antibiotic that was effective against hanahaki, was named after its ability to prevent them.

However, we’d gone in early enough to avoid all of that anyway. My lungs were only irritated, it only felt like someone had roto-rooted them. I supposed that was better than having internal bleeding, and better either of those than oblivion.

Dr. Dominic prescribed drugs, including bloomycin, which killed the worms when they were small. As a side effect my eyes would be itchy for days (the drugs also got those eyelash mites) and it might also cause a fever as immune system reacted to it.

I’d have digestion issues since bloomycin messed with gut flora and intestinal membranes. At least my hospital room had a private bathroom.

Finally, the damage from the surgery and the worms would permanently reduce my lung capacity by some amount. That was true of typical hanahaki, of course, but treated hanahaki had generally worse outcomes. Type A had better outcomes than type B. There was a lot to be grateful for, and a lot to be upset about.

My lungs would be permanently damaged, and cardio exercise would be verboten for three weeks as I recovered. I was severely unhappy about that.

—

The end result of the bloomycin irritating my eyes was that I looked like I’d been crying and was in pain. I wasn’t in that much pain, but I couldn’t help how the treatment made me look.

“I thought you had hanahaki,” said Chloe. She set my laptop bag on the bedside table. I’d messaged her to ask if someone from work could bring my laptop, but I hadn’t expected Chloe herself to show up.

“I do,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Not the typical hanahaki, probably, but hanahaki all the same.” I had decided to take some steps as though I had a crush–better to cover all my bases when seeking a return to good health. The doctor said I should date, and the Brookes seemed to think they knew better too. At some point some confluence of elders should be able to convince you of things, right?

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” said Chloe, “but you look awful. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“Why would I be happy about this?”

“For your romantic feelings,” she said. I explained to her that it was a stress reaction, rather than anything interpersonal. She gave me a quizzical look. “Stress? Are you worried about the Saber meeting?”

“Honestly, yes,” I said. Then, because I didn’t want her to worry about my capability as a worker: “I’ve got a lot of other things stressing me out, as well. Volunteering, exercise, feeling sick I suppose. But I can handle it.”

“You will have to prioritize,” she replied. I saw her shift her weight to her back foot; Chloe was ready to leave. “Remind me never to get hanahaki.”

“You haven’t had it?” I asked. She gave me a dour look.

“Do I seem like that kind of person to you?”

“I suppose not, but people have hidden depths.”

“Apparently,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I was surprised to learn that you volunteered, for example.” She’d known that about me for a while.

“And that I go running?”

“No, that makes sense. You seem like a runner.” I knew that Chloe herself liked the elliptical. It was more efficient, if you disregarded that exercise machines lack social options. “Volunteering doesn’t make much sense for you, though.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“You’re so focused on improving yourself. Weren’t you telling me about how donating money from a significant salary is the best way to help others?”

“It’s true. But I volunteer to help myself. It’s like when you help people rise at work, isn’t it?”

“That is helping myself–helping myself get capable coworkers. What do you get out of the…

“Soup kitchen.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean… it makes me happy.” She skeptically raised and eyebrow as she looked down at me, in my hospital bed.

“Well, at least you have some time to recover before the meeting. Don’t overdo it, Milo.”

Chloe left, and I booted the computer to get to work. After I’d answered all my emails, I started editing a proposal.

Some time later, a nurse walked in and asked me how I was doing. I told him well enough, but when I looked up I was shocked to see the sun had already set. The clock read 8:34.

“Have you had enough fluids?” asked the nurse. His nametag said Nick.

“Probably not. I got distracted with work.” I grabbed the water bottle from my bed stand. The cooler of sandwiches was also calling to me.

“You are supposed to be resting,” said Nick.

“Resting my body, right? This is mental work.” I mentally kicked myself. My body was my mind, and I knew it, and was supposed to act like it.

“It is still work,” he said, and I resisted the urge to apologize. “Take it easy tomorrow, why don’t you?”

“I will,” I said without thinking. I had no intent to refrain from working; editing documents was easy, especially compared to a customer meeting.

“Good. And get plenty of rest tonight.”

After he left, I drained the water bottle to make up for lost time. I also ate a few of the sandwiches. They were made with fake meat–meat berries, specifically–which was a step beyond what most helpful neighbors would provide, but exactly the sort of thing you could expect from the Brookes. They supported my vegetarianism. With reluctance, I left the laptop closed so I could lay down and get some rest.

—

The next day I texted Diana to let her know I’d be missing our runs.

So I’ll be out of commission for a while.

I’m so sorry.

It’s okay. I’m just glad to be alive.

Is there anything I can do to help?

Thank you! But not really. The doctor has given me some advice for recovery that I plan to put into action.

Like what?

I considered asking her out on a date right then and there–”doctor’s orders”. Accepting a rejection could cure me instantly, supposedly, and if I was good at anything, it was accepting things when others would live in denial.

At the same time, if I asked for a date after being hospitalized for a disease of love, it would send a message that was entirely too intense.

I had a brilliant idea.

He said I need to de-stress, and take it easy, so I’m going to start taking walks along the river instead of running. Would you want to join me for that?

That sounds like a good idea.

It’s going to be way less intense than the runs. Are you sure?

I’ll bring my ruck.

What is a ruck?

Rucksack. For working out. It’s supposedly as good as running, but at a walking pace.

Really? Maybe I should try it.

Listen to your doctor.

Fine, fine. I’m just glad we can keep our routine.

That would be two birds with one stone. Diana might not view it as a date–and it didn’t have to be one, necessarily—but it would serve the same purpose. I could talk to her and figure out if she was my mystery crush.

Maybe I would ask her out during our walk, and get rejected, and then I’d feel better. Or we’d start dating, then I’d feel better. I tried not to fantasize about either outcome because it might make me more ill.

I felt a twinge of guilt for breaking my promise to myself that I would not try to date Diana. However, changing my mind was allowed–and indeed, for health reasons, I had to be willing to change my mind. The old rule was that I wouldn’t date people I met at the gym. I resolved to forgive myself, and institute a new rule: I would not date people I met at the gym, unless we’d been friends for long enough that it seemed like a good idea, and also it was important for my health.

I wondered how our conversation would go. I had limited experience in romance, and it wasn’t like I was into romance stories. All I had to go on were my personal experiences, and most of those were second-hand.

For example, once-upon-a-time Gavin had asked Anna out. She’d rejected him, but all three of us still met online to play videogames. Thus, I figured that after Diana rejected me I’d get over it and we’d continue our old routine.

I jumped when Anna herself walked in the door.

“Anna!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you, doofus,” she said. She moved to sit in the chair by my bedside, then scooted closer. “Are you okay?”

“I mean, yeah. Just sick with an illness I shouldn’t have.” I had to explain to her that it was stress related, and not romance, and my eyes were red from antifloral drugs. She nodded patiently. I could see her calming down as I went on.

“I’m sorry about your lung capacity,” she said.

“Me too, but it is what it is.”

“What are you going to do when you get out?”

“Take it easy,” I said. “Play videogames until my eyes bleed, at some point, but otherwise just… take it easy.” What did taking it easy look like, if not videogames?

She smiled. “You know we’ll be there whenever you want to play games.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And for driving all the way in.”

“I had things to pick up anyway,” she said. “I’m just glad to see you’re doing alright.”

We chatted for a bit more, during which I felt increasingly tired. Despite everything, that’s how I knew that I was actually an introvert; talking to people, even close friends, wore me out.

—

After two more days in the hospital the doctors scanned me again, and found that I had not grown any more hanahaki parasites. My lungs were healing. I was sent home.

Bella made an appearance the same day. After welcoming her in I went to brew some herbal tea. The dreamcatcher was casting a deeply slanted shadow outside the window by my sink. It was the afternoon, so caffeine wouldn’t be a good idea.

Bella had a backpack with her and it was half-full of homemade food, including a giant pan of berry lasagna. My admiration for the Brookes only grew.

“Are you alright?” she asked as she took the steaming cup of tea. The concern on her face made me want to reassure her.

“Yes,” I said. “The rest has made a lot of difference. Well, the surgery too. Perhaps it was mostly the surgery.”

“I was so worried,” she said. “I thought Greg was making things up, but then you got sick–and if it took you down, it’s actually a big deal.” I laughed, and assured her it wasn’t a big deal at all.

“I just have to slow down for a while.”

“No more running?”

“No, walking instead.”

“That makes sense.” She sipped her tea. “Are you still going to go to the soup kitchen?”

“That’s easy, so I’m going to keep doing it.” It was too fun not to be easy, I thought.

“What about work?” she asked.

“We have this big customer meeting coming up, but after that things should be smooth sailing.” She stared at me.

“Last time you had a big customer meeting, you ended up working late for like two months afterward, right?” She had a point; the customer always wanted a lot of changes, and it always fell to me to make sure that those changes went into effect without issue. It usually meant a lot of work.

“I’ll be recovered by then.”

“Milo, you aren’t taking things easy at all,” said Bella. “You’re barely slowing down!”

“It’ll be a lot easier for me, I promise. I’m going at seventy-five percent intensity, tops.” I’d been doing things at maximum capacity for a long time, so seventy-five percent should be a cakewalk.

“No, Milo, you can’t just say ‘ahh, I’ll do all my difficult tasks with less intensity’ and expect that to work.” She was giving me a plaintive look.

“I mean, what do you expect me to cut out, then?” This was an argument. I had no intention of cutting anything out, but I’d at least try to understand her point of view.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just promise me that you’ll step back and actually reduce your workload.”

“Alright,” I said. “I promise.” And then, because I wasn’t a liar even by mistake, I pulled out my phone and blocked out an hour of time to think about the problem. I sincerely doubted it would take an hour–what I was really doing was throwing a reminder to my future self to think about it, and leaving an hour open just in case. “There, see?” I showed her my calendar.

“Thank you."

“Of course.” I was desperate to change the topic, but in my haste I chose to talk about something else I was stressing over, something regrettable. “The real hard part is going to be fitting dates in there, as well.”

“Dates? What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t have a crush on anyone, but the doctor said that going on a few dates might help me overcome this illness, anyway. Also…” I took a deep breath. “I could be wrong. He seems to think I could be in denial, or missing something.”

“I see. So who are you going to take on a date?”

“Er, well, there are a handful of women in my life,” I said. “I could, maybe, date one of them.”

“Tell me everything about them,” she said. “Right now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bore you–”

“I insist.”

So I told her about Diana, Chloe, Anna, and Emma. Her eyes grew wider and wider as I went on. At some point she pulled a notebook out of her bag to keep track of the details. Fortunately, I’d had the good sense not to tell Bella that there were five women I might date, lest she infer that I was leaving her off the list.

“You’re, like, a ladies’ man!”

I shook my head. “Not at all, I just happen to know a lot of women.”

“Why, though?”

“Why? I mean, everybody knows people.”

“No, this is… I think this is way more options than a person would normally have.” I had the thought that if people normally had to choose from five or fewer, society was failing those seeking relationships. “Have any women confessed to you?”

“No.” At least I could be relieved about the fact that I hadn’t caused anyone else to get sick.

“I’m surprised,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of eligible women around you. You’d expect at least one to go for it.”

“Did you know that men get hanahaki about twice as often as women?” I asked. “Apparently the cultural norm of men asking women out comes from that.”

“Huh.” She drank some of her tea. “That’s unfortunate for men.”

“I suppose. As for why I know so many women, I think it’s just that I’ve met a lot of people, and made a lot of friends. By going places like the gym and the soup kitchen, but also just by talking to people and trying to be a part of their lives.”

“So you sought out women to date?”

“Well, no. It’s just that some number of people are women that I might date, so meeting very many people made me meet more potential partners as well.”

“Are you sure it’s not ‘cause you are rich, handsome, healthy, and selfless?” I gave her a skeptical look, and she blushed, but then squared her shoulders. “I meant what I said. It’s not just that you meet lots of folks, it’s that you have a lot of attractive qualities. You’re drawing these women toward you.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Being attractive is only part of the equation, though–the other part is meeting a lot of people. A multiplicative factor. If I wasn’t…” Admitting that I was attractive was a step too far for me, and I still didn’t really believe it. “If I had fewer opportunities, I’d start by meeting more people, not by trying to change who I am.”

“Milo, you change who you are constantly. You’re always driving at some sort of self-improvement.”

“Yeah, but not for dating people,” I said.

“Same thing.”

“It’s not the same at all.” Dating people was an ancillary benefit to my true goals. Or it would be, if I had ever done it, which I hadn’t, because it wasn’t one of my goals.

“Well,” she said, looking down at her notes. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you get dates with some of these women, and in exchange, you can help me get through my first semester at university.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah. I decided to go to the local college.” She smiled wide at me.

“No, I mean, help me? I’m past the phase of needing someone to pass notes!”

“Well, give you advice, I mean. Help you think things through.” I narrowed my eyes on her. “Be your shoulder to cry on, probably.”

“I don’t think I need that,” I said. “But I’m glad to hear that you’ve decided where to go. What major?”

“Mechanical engineering. I got my letter yesterday. It’s going to be hard, so I want your help with the math and whatnot.”

“I dropped out of that program.” I considered the fact that I’d dropped out a major mark against me, as far as attractive qualities were concerned. I’d done it to take a job that paid better than mechanical engineering would, according to my sober estimates of my potential as an engineer and the nature of commissions, but I’d still dropped out.

“Tell me what not to do, then,” she said. “You’re still good at math, so would you tutor me?”

I frowned. It didn’t seem like a very fair trade. Bella just wanted to be nosy about my love life, like her parents and Gavin. Tutoring people was difficult work, a skillset that I put on my resume. It was something that I considered very valuable. Trying to disabuse people of their misunderstandings was difficult. I got enough of that at work.

I checked myself. I’d known Bella for a few years. She was younger than me, but she wasn’t stupid. She hadn’t needed anybody's help in high school, for math or otherwise. Tutoring her would be far easier than explaining things to my average coworker, when I thought about it.

Also, it would help her do better in school. That would be a favor to Bella, but also the Brookes. It would have been worth doing on its own, even if I got nothing in return.

Once I stopped thinking of it as an exchange, it became easy. I would help Bella because helping people was just the right thing to do. Also, if it went well I might take up tutoring as a secondary source of income. I could start tutoring many students. The prospect seemed full of potential.

“Fine then,” I said. “You can… help me navigate the minefield that is dating, and later I’ll help you with your engineering homework.”

“The fall semester starts in September,” she reminded me.

“This will be resolved in only a few weeks,” I said. She looked at me and actually started to laugh.